


Thomas Sharpe Imagines

by sserpente



Category: Crimson Peak (2015)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Ghost!Lucille, Ghost!Thomas, Horror, Smut, proposal, snowstorm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-02 22:53:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17272679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sserpente/pseuds/sserpente
Summary: A collection of all of my Thomas Sharpe Imagines. Fluff, angst, (shameless) smut, you name it, it's there! ;-)





	1. Imagine getting stuck in a blizzard with Thomas Sharpe over Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Here, you can read all of my Thomas Sharpe Imagines which can also be found on Tumblr (@sserpente). I mainly post there but this story will be updated as regularly as possible. Side notes: The first few Imagines are over two years old (so please bear with me), some of them are based on requests. If you want to make a request, head over to my Tumblr and send me an ask (but please make sure requests are open first!).
> 
> Rating varies from Teen to Mature and Explicit. The tags I added vary from story to story. Mind the additional warnings!
> 
> Chapter one: Imagine getting stuck in a blizzard with Thomas Sharpe over Christmas

_Words: 1727  
Warnings: none_

* * *

 

“Honestly, Thomas, we really should head back. The snowstorm is getting heavier.” You had been waiting for hours. This shortly before Christmas, the post office was extraordinary busy. Huge piles of parcels and packages surrounded you both as you sat there, waiting to pick up some material for Thomas’ machine, important pieces he couldn’t wait for to receive after the holidays, he had said.

You had left for London two days ago, travelling by horse carriage. It had been marvellous—magical and romantic, watching the snow sugar-coating the vast landscape, the many flakes painting the grey sky all the while wrapped in a warm and soft blanket, sitting so close to Thomas you could feel his body heat radiating off him and warming you like the brightest sun.

He had looked incredibly handsome that day—hell, he _always_ looked unbelievably breath-taking. His black hair and the glasses he wore to protect his eyes from the rather weak sunbeams at this time of the year, along with his dark tailcoat and the black gloves… you could spend hours staring at him intently, mustering his thin lips you wanted to taste and hugging the surely somewhat muscly form he hid beneath those neatly tailored garments.

Technically, you were not allowed to have thoughts like that. They were hazardous—endangering your relationship to him. Thomas was, quite frankly, your boss. You supported him with capital and in return, for a little over a year now, he allowed you to live with him in Allerdale Hall. Ever since his sister had died, he felt lonely, he had told you one night after a few glasses of wine.

You could tell he shared a long and depressing history with her—a history you shouldn’t pry into and yet, the compassion you had felt for him went beyond mere friendliness. You had fallen in love with this man that night, learning he had a good heart and a soft nature.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N).” His soft voice caressed your ears like earmuffs. It was okay, really. You had nowhere else to be. Your own family lived in Scotland and they had abandoned you after you had refused to marry this disgusting old farmer for money. You were better off here. With Thomas. “I know you want to go home.”

 _Home._ Because Crimson Peak was your home now too. The words he spoke sounded like molten candy, like sweet honey running down your throat as you took them in.

“It’s alright, Thomas, really. I’m just worried about the blizzard, it’s getting worse.”

“Mr Sharpe! I am so sorry to have kept you waiting for so long but I’m afraid I have bad news.”

Sighing, you both stood, staring down the owner of the office. “Our courier got stuck in the snowstorm, there has been an incident. He is currently waiting for transportation in Edinburgh. I doubt he will arrive in time before Christmas in two days, and there will be no service on the day of Christmas Eve.”

Just like that, the whole journey, the money you had spent on the driver and the time you had wasted out in the cold, was all in vain.

Thomas nodded ruefully. “That is quite unfortunate. Is he alright?”

It was one of the many reasons why you loved him so much. Even though he would be relinquishing those machinery parts, he still cared—for a stranger he had never met.

“He will be. But you are not planning to leave now, are you?” The owner continued, his eyes widening as he watched Thomas reach for his hat to put it back on. It made him so much taller than he already was, towering up high next to your own form.

“We should. A Christmas tree awaits us.” You tossed in, smiling sweetly at him. It was a quite useful ability when it came to meetings, banks and money. You were of great help to him, right now, however, it earned you pity.

“Half of the city is snowed in. I doubt you will be able to leave, Mrs Sharpe.”

Your heart skipped a beat, your lips parting to correct him but your opposite was faster yet again and Thomas… Thomas seemed to hide an almost… dreamy smile.

“Perhaps you should consider spending the holidays here in London. There is a hotel right around the corner in Hugh Street. I know the owner, a lovely widow. I am sure she has a room for you two.”

Pressing your lips together, you looked up at the man of your desire, your eyes pronouncing the question you did not speak. _Should we stay?_

“If that is okay for you,” Thomas stated, smiling ever so slightly the butterflies in your belly went crazy with love.

You nodded. “We have not much of a choice. Staying in a warm hotel room is better than travelling in the cold, after all.”

In the end, it really did not matter, as long as you could spend Christmas with him.

“Alright… I will pay for your hotel room. I asked you to join me, after all. Well, still, thank you for your efforts.” He said to the owner then, nodding courtly.

“Good night, Mr Sharpe. Have a merry Christmas.”

“You too, sir,”

The hotel was in fact not far from the post office. Thomas and you were quick to find it, striding through the snow with your faces down to shut out the cold. Every cell of your being longed for you to take his gloved hand in yours but you resisted the urge, instead sucking in a deep breath when the warmth of the heated hotel wrapped around your bodies. ‘ _Lucinda’s’_ the wooden sign read.

“Can I help you?” It was an elderly woman who spoke, waving from behind an old wooden counter. Piles of paper decorated it and a plate full of homemade cookies invited to steal a treat.

“Yes, Lucinda? I was wondering if you had two rooms for us? I’m afraid we’ll be stranded in London until it stops snowing.”

“Oh dear… I am completely overbooked for the holidays, sir. I have only one room left.”

“Will that do?” Thomas asked, giving you gentle glance.

Sleeping in one bed right next to him… it would be your own personal Christmas miracle.

“Yeah,” you choked out, clearing your throat. “I don’t mind.”

The widow was quick to hand you the keys and lead you upstairs to a small room. It was comfortable—cosy. A huge bed took up most of the space, the thick curtains and carpets drowning the room in warmth. It even had a desk and a small drawer for luggage, next to an old armchair that invited you to peacefully read on it.

“I can sleep on the chair, if you like.” Thomas suggested, walking towards the window to admire the view. Snowflakes blinded him, yet the busy streets of London were still clearly visible.

“Thomas, we live in the same house. I have known you for a little over a year now and I trust you. We can both sleep in the bed, I-I mean, unless of course you don’t _wish_ to sleep next to me, if you are not comfortable—“

The shocked expression on his face startled you. “(Y/N), of course not. I would love to sleep next to you.” Only the fraction of a second after did he realise what he had said. He would love to sleep next to you? Smiling softly, you imagined how he would cuddle up against you, wrapping his strong arms around your body to keep you warm and safe. Perhaps… just maybe… did he feel the same for you?

“Did you hear it?” He went on then, quickly changing the topic. “The owner of the post office thought we were married.”

“I heard,” you giggled. _If only it were real though_ , you added silently.

“I am so sorry we’ll have to spend Christmas Eve here. Perhaps I can ask Lucinda for a small Christmas tree?”

“Thomas… as long as I am with you, there is no need for a tree, no need for a delicious feast or presents…” You trailed off.

“I had a Christmas present for you.” He interrupted you gently, his blue eyes locking with yours. His soft smile—almost cheeky—melted you from the inside out.

Again, your heart skipped a beat, feeling like pink cotton candy wrapped around it.

“Thomas… that is so sweet of you but you knew you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“But I did. I was not sure if…” If what? If what?!

“(Y/N)…” Thomas started, approaching you with two intimidating steps that sent pleasant shivers up and down your spine. He was standing so close now you could feel his hot breath brushing against your skin, his body almost touching yours.

“It was a ring.”

 _A… a… a ring?!_ “W-what?”

“I wanted to ask for your hand in marriage, (Y/N). One year ago, when you offered capital to join me, I… it didn’t take me long to fall for you and with every day that passed, my love for you grew. The owner of the post office… my heart jumped when he called you ‘Mrs Sharpe’. This might not be the time, I wanted this to be perfect… but… we don’t seem to be going anywhere soon and… I love you. Will you… will you marry me?”

He loved you? He loved you! Your lips parted, hot tears of joy burning in your eyes. “Thomas… oh Thomas, I love you too! I have for so long, I… I just didn’t know… I never thought… yes!” You breathed out, barely audible. “Yes, I want to marry you!”

“Yes?” He smiled cordially when he lifted you off the ground, pressing his thin lips against yours and igniting a fire deep inside you. His soft mouth burned like a thousand stars, sending jolts of electricity through your whole body and capturing you in a charming curse you never wanted to break free from again as you both stumbled onto the bed, spending the rest of the night appreciating each other’s bodies, talking, kissing, touching. Not sleeping with each other, of course—Thomas was a very traditional man; that he honourably promised he would save for your wedding night. Perhaps in the end, this journey had not been in vain after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If you enjoyed this story, make sure to head over to my Tumblr (@sserpente) for more. ♥


	2. (NSFW) Imagine your father deciding to marry you off to an Englishman, organising a romantic dinner for you. Apparently…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imagine your father deciding to marry you off to an Englishman, organising a romantic dinner for you. Appalled, you resist with all might until you meet the mysterious baronet himself--Sir Thomas Sharpe turns out to be every young woman's dream... (NSFW)

_Words: 3621  
Warnings: fluff, smut_

* * *

 

You knew that when your father called you into his office, you were not likely to expect good news. He rarely let you pry into business matters, let alone let you in on his private thoughts. It didn’t exactly bother you—to you, your father was but a silent roommate in this small house you called home.

With your family not being incredibly wealthy or rich, he spent most of his time working in his office, as a lawyer accepting more cases than he could possibly handle at once. The taxes for the small piece of land he owned had gone up quite recently and to maintain it all, he dived into endless piles of paperwork on his desk.

You appreciated his tenacity to keep his property, yet you also realised the main reason for why he did it was to uphold a positive and acknowledged reputation—not to provide you with a decent place to live in once he perished.

“(Y/N), come in.” He ordered when you knocked, lifting your heavy dress off the ground a little to do as you were told. The wooden door behind you fell shut with a loud _thud._

“I have come to a grave decision, child.”

A decision… decisions your father made never did you a favour. Last time he had started a conversation like that, he had chosen to fire your maid and former nanny—the only woman you had come to love dearly like your dead mother, the only friend you had had in this lonely house.

“A decision, you say? What is it? Are you selling the house?”

Startled, your father shook his head. “I would _never_ sell this house, what will the neighbours think? No. It concerns you.”

“Me?” Suspicious, you leaned back a little and crossed your arms before your chest.

“I have decided that you are old enough now to get married. You cannot sulk and hide in my house forever.” Your heart skipped a beat, indignity spreading in your entire body.

“So I have organised a meeting for you. All casual, with no particular obligation for me to give you away just yet.”

Whether he expected you to reply, you did not know. Instead, you simply stood there, paralysed and shook, your lips parted and your eyes widened.

“You… you want to marry me off to a stranger?” You finally chirped, clenching your fists in the process.

“No stranger. I have met him before. He is the perfect suitor for you. Smart, young, wealthy. He even has a title—baronet. He is English and—“

“English! You mean to introduce me to an overly polite puppy who inhales tea like oxygen?!” You interrupted him sharply, raising your voice.

“Watch your tongue, child!”

“I don’t _want_ to get married!”

“No? You want to die a lonely virgin? People will laugh at us! You are a beautiful young woman and you’re of the perfect age to become a wife.” Your father bellowed, his face turning somewhat red.

“Is that what is most important to you? What people will think of us? What about your daughter, do you care if your daughter is happy?”

“You will be happy. He is a fine man and you will act like a proper lady by his side. You will meet Sir Thomas Sharpe this evening, in the restaurant your mother and I used to have dinner together. Now, get out. This conversation is over.”

It was quite remarkable how you managed to cry only after you had left his office, closing the door behind you as forcefully as possible.

* * *

Perhaps your father knew him but to you, Sir Thomas Sharpe—whoever he was— still was a complete stranger. English, wealthy and apparently in your father’s favour were the only traits you were aware of already and especially the last thing was what troubled you this much.

Your father was a cold man. If he got along with Sharpe, then what kind of man was he?

Sighing, you put your hair up in a somewhat elegant bun, letting two loose strands frame your face and compliment the plain dress you had chosen for the occasion. There was no point to get all dressed up. Maybe if you managed to come off as entirely repulsive, he would refuse to marry you anyway.

With this plan in mind and a pair of flat shoes you hid under the fabric of your dress, you joined your father downstairs. He had organised a carriage for you to bring you to the restaurant where Sir Thomas Sharpe would be waiting for you.

“This dress?” Your father asked when you ascended the stairs, lifting his eyebrows a little disappointed. “I was hoping you would wear one of your mother’s dresses.”

“I wear mother’s dresses for _happy_ occasions,” you spat in response, walking past him arrogantly and allowing the driver to help you inside the carriage outside.

* * *

_So this is the place mother fell in love with father._ It was breathtakingly beautiful here. Dozens of small tables with fine table cloths stood in the great room, the whole restaurant reminding you of a ballroom with a high ceiling, awfully precise paintings and fresh flowers wherever you looked. Each of the tables in the dimly lit hall was illuminated by a single candle.

“Can I help you, Miss?” You had barely stepped over the threshold when a neatly dressed waiter with white gloves approached you to take off your coat.

“I am, um, here to meet a Sir Thomas Sharpe?”

“Right away, Miss, he is waiting for you. If you please follow me…”

Nodding, you let him lead you into the middle of the room. Most of the guests were couples, enjoying a romantic meal together—it was not short of a miracle your mother had fallen in love here. Was this why your father had chosen this restaurant? Was there some warmth left in his heart, after all? Or was it unnecessarily cruel to ask Thomas Sharpe to come here?

You gasped when you spotted him. He was… _everything_ , just not what you had expected him to be. Instead of an elder man with grey hair and an ancient suit, who stood to greet you politely was a young and handsome man with black hair and stunning blue eyes.

His jaw and cheekbones were as sharp as knives, his thin lips all but inviting to be kissed and his voice…

His face lit up when you approached him, his blue eyes taking in your form and admiring you appreciatively before reaching for your hand and kissing the back of it gently. Your skin instantly tickled and tingled wildly where he touched you.

“Sir Thomas Sharpe. It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss (Y/L/N).”

Heavy with an English accent, it was smooth, dark and seducing—you instantly knew that you could spend hours listening to him without getting tired.

“(Y/N),” you replied, glancing shyly at him. “Call me (Y/N). I am not particularly fond of formalities.”

Thomas smiled. “In this case, please do not hesitate to call me Thomas. Please, have a seat.”

With but a court nod, he sent the waiter away to prepare a bottle of wine and then pulled back your chair for you just like the perfect English gentleman.

The way he looked at you… so utterly fascinated and amazed by your presence… in case this man ended up as your husband after all, you certainly would not mind as much as you would have before you entered this restaurant.

Nervously, you glanced around. All of a sudden, you felt underdressed. What if he did not like your appearance? Maybe you should have chosen one of your mother’s dresses after all; and your hair! Your hair was practically a mess compared to the beautiful braids the other women wore.

“You look beautiful,” Thomas stated gently. Did he notice your discomfort? Was he saying this to cheer you up? You knew the English were awfully polite, much more than what was, in your opinion, necessary. That did by far not mean he was interested in you… right?

For once, you met a man you were instantly drawn to and now, you ruined your own chance of winning him to yourself because of your stubbornness! Who could have thought that your father would actually choose a suitor for you who… who… who was this attractive?!

“T-thank you…”

Thomas frowned, concern growing on his flawless face. “You seem a little tense, are you alright?”

“I’m okay, I’m sorry, it’s just… been a while since I was with a man, eating dinner or…”

“Yes… Your father told me you spend most of your time inside, hiding in the library.”

Blushing, you found yourself nodding. So he already knew how boring you were. Why had he agreed on meeting you? Your father could be very convincing. Had he hoped Thomas would change his mind upon meeting you in person, maybe tempted by your feminine charms? You weren’t even sure you had any.

“I have a library too. My mother was a delighted book collector. I kept them all when I moved, stored them safely on a dozen of bookshelves in my new home.”

“You… you moved? Where did you live before?”

He was exciting—every aspect about his life. You had _never_ taken such an interest in a man before. Wiping your palms on your dress to keep them from sweating too much, you attempted a coy smile.

“Allerdale Hale. A mansion in Cumberland in England. I moved out when my sister died.”

“Oh. I’m sorry…”

Thomas nodded. “She was an unhappy soul. I believe… I believe it freed her, in a way.” For just a brief moment, his eyes glistened sadly. “Now, I live just outside London. It is beautiful—but rather lonely without a wife or children. If anything, I had to get away from everything that would remind me of her.” Pausing, he looked up to lock eyes with you, causing you to gasp quietly. It felt like an explosion.

“I would love to show you the many books I own.”

“That would be nice.”

The waiter appeared, two clean glasses in one hand, a bottle of red wine in the other. He quickly explained the menu for tonight before leaving you both to yourself again, having you bite your lip awkwardly.

What on Earth were you supposed to tell him to catch his interest? Thomas seemed so distant, as if he had already decided he was most certainly _not_ going to be your suitor. Perhaps he was hoping already the food would arrive soon so you could both eat in silence and then bring you home again, explaining swiftly to your father you were not the right woman for him while you would hide up in your room and cry the loss of what could have become a wonderful love story.

You… liked him. Maybe it was the romantic setting that jinxed you this much but this man… he was so unlike anyone else you had ever met. His blue eyes told a tragic story, the loneliness he fought with every night tangible and all of a sudden, you longed to hold his hand, promising you would be the one to scare away the silence in his new house.

In your imagination, at the end of this dinner, Thomas got on one knee and proposed to you. You drove home to your father together, sharing a passionate kiss in the rain before breaking the marvellous news. The next day you would tell your father how happy you were and how grateful you were for his harsh decision to find you a husband.

In reality, you barely opened your mouth to speak, afraid to sound stupid or too boring for his liking, the nervousness robbing you of your rational thinking. You had messed this up—and it hurt, incredibly, to admit that to yourself.

* * *

Thomas insisted on bringing you home safely. Your father had gone to bed already when you arrived, the keys hidden under a flower pot just outside the door. Sighing, you reached for it. What had he expected? That you would go home with Thomas and seal your engagement? There was no such thing. How could he have thought for even a second a fine English man like him could take a liking into _you_?

The least you owned him was a sincere apology.

Inhaling sharply, you turned around. You could barely see him in the dark hallway of your house.

“Look, Thomas… before I met you tonight, I was all but against my father finding me a husband. I am not particularly the kind of woman who will willingly submit to the life of an obedient wife raising the children at home. But when we met tonight, I regretted the choice I had made and I am sorry for not trying hard enough to impress you. I can understand if you don’t want to marry m—“

You were cut off promptly when suddenly, he took a step forward, cupped your face with his warm hands and… kissed you. Gently, not demanding, he moved his lips against yours, your eyes falling shut contently.

“Impress me?” He panted, pulling away from you only reluctantly. “(Y/N), you are the most beautiful woman I have ever met. You are so unlike all the others… I know your father was forcing you into this. He even warned me you were going to be cocky but instead, you were charming.”

Tears were worsening your sight, the realisation hitting you like a tidal wave. Thomas _did_ like you back.

“We can take our time, I am willing to wait for as long as you need me to. But if there is any woman in this town, this country and on this planet that I would want to marry, it is you.”

“Thomas…” Touched by his sweet words, you leaned into him once more, kissing him gently but a little more fiercely this time. It was a kiss that made you both hungry for more, with the desire between you rising and rising until you were ready to fall into an endless abyss.

Thomas’ hands worked their way down your body, appreciating every single curve until they rested on your hips, pulling you close. You could feel his erection through the many layers of your clothes, the lust consuming him—lust for _you._

Blushing even more furiously now, you stepped away from him to catch your breath, the unspoken words clear as you looked into each other’s eyes.

It was frowned upon to be intimate before the wedding night but, no matter what would happen, it was obvious to you both you would not be able to wait any longer.

You didn’t understand it and neither did Thomas. For some reason, the flame burning softly between you had turned into a raging fire you now needed to extinguish before it destroyed you both by claiming your minds and robbing your senses.

“We need to be quiet, my father has a light sleep.” You explained. Thomas nodded.

Mutely and breathing heavily, he followed you upstairs and into your room, admiring the furniture and the many books there for a split second only to then pounce on you again, attacking you with his hot mouth.

His desperate kiss all but consuming, you could taste the loneliness when you leaned into him, allowing him to work open your dress until you slipped out of it effortlessly, with him halting for a moment to admire your half naked form and his gaze lingering on your breasts for a while.

Thomas licked his lips. The last piece of clothing shielding your most intimate parts were your undergarments but before he would take this step, he would make sure to reveal himself to you as well. Frantically, he undid the buttons of his shirt and slid out of it, tossing it away as carelessly as his jacket.

Your breathing quickened when your eyes caught sight of his flawless and muscly chest. You admired every single inch of his skin as he stepped closer to you until your calves hit the soft mattress on your bed.

Thomas hovered above you like a starving wolf. With a greedy sparkling in his blue eyes, he gently pushed you back until you came to rest in the middle of your bed, impatiently awaiting him to join you. He did within a matter of seconds, his glance never leaving your body.

He licked his lips in joyful anticipation before he lowered his mouth on your breasts, ghosting over them and eliciting an exciting tickling, making you long for more. A desperate moan escaped your lips when he sucked one of your hardening nipples into his mouth, tasting and pampering it thoroughly before switching to your other breast. You shivered when his breath blew over the now moist nubs, your breathing losing any sense of rhythm it had possessed.

Thomas’ lips wandered deeper and deeper, lower and lower until he reached the seam of your undergarments. Smiling cheekily, he hooked his teeth into the fabric and tore them off your body, revealing your wet womanhood to him inch by inch.

“Thomas…” You whispered, reaching for his hand. Your fingers intertwined as if you were both drowning in an angry storm out in the sea, your eyes locking, unwilling to look away ever again.

Impatience was rolling over you both, urging you on to finally unite your bodies. Thomas threw your last piece of clothing out of bed, undoing his belt and the buttons of his trousers as quickly as his trembling fingers allowed. You noticed the silver ring on his finger, remembering with a start he wasn’t just a fine English man but also a _baronet._ Your admiration grew with every second that passed and then, finally, he positioned himself between your legs, his remarkable erection poking at your entrance. You felt it twitching and pulsating with need already, your own core growing wetter and wetter until he pushed against your slit, working you open slowly and gently.

“(Y/N)…” he whispered. With all but his smooth and soft voice he took away all of your fears. Would it hurt? Much? How would it feel? The passion and desire building in your core ached for more friction, begged for release.

Many of your female friends had told you it was hard for a woman to find satisfaction during _the act_ with a man, that they needed to help with their own fingers to reach their peak as well. It was a taboo to talk about these matters and back then, you had only giggled. Were men so unskilled in bed, unable to give a woman real pleasure?

When you looked at Thomas, however, all of those doubts faded in but a heartbeat. He made you clench by simply touching you with his delicate fingers—if anything, he would make you orgasm in no time but first, you wanted him to feel pleasure too.

You moaned again when he sheathed himself inside you to the hilt, taking his time but still penetrating you eagerly. There was a stinging pain when he broke your hymen, a small trail of blood trickling down and onto the bed sheets but it was over as fast as it began—all there was left was pure bliss.

Thomas started moving inside you, his blue eyes studying your face. Smiling up to him contently, you buried your hands in his black hair, enjoying how it felt between your fingers and then pulled him close to kiss him.

Sweat pooled where your bodies met, his movements growing faster and wilder with every single thrust. He felt beyond incredible inside you, closer to you than any man had ever been. In this very moment, he belonged to you and you belonged to him. The jolts of electricity cursing through your body as he kept pumping in and out of you all but confirmed your light-hearted thoughts.

Those women had lied or perhaps, they had never met a man like Thomas. Every passionate stroke of his had you climb the ladder of orgasm higher and higher, your moaning growing louder. If your father woke up now…

“(Y/N)… (Y/N), I won’t last much longer…” Thomas whimpered. He sounded… vulnerable and… and he was waiting for you. The realisation was enough to toss you right over the edge and you came, clenching around him and milking his hard length frantically as waves of pure pleasure consumed every cell of your body.

It was all he needed to release himself inside you. Thomas moaned, panting when he stilled, his member pumping his warm seed deep into your core. You milked him until he had given you everything he had, then collapsed beside you on the mattress, sliding out of you exhausted.

There was blood on his manhood, as was there between your legs. Blushing, you curled up against him and hid your face in his chest.

If he had noticed the result of your now lost virginity, he was both polite and subtle enough not to mention it.

“Are you alright? Are you in pain?”

Relief filled your heart.

“No. I feel great. I have never felt better.” You could feel him smile at the ceiling.

“I would love to meet you again tomorrow, Miss (Y/L/N), maybe for breakfast this time,” he muttered into the comfortable silence between you. His words made you chuckle.

“I would like that very much, Sir Thomas Sharpe.”

“I shall meet you tomorrow morning then, right after waking you up with a kiss.”

There. Happily, you closed your eyes and smiled against his muscles. Getting married didn’t sound so bad  now after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If you enjoyed this story, make sure to head over to my Tumblr (@sserpente) for more. ♥


	3. (NSFW) Imagine operating as a spy to help arrest the Sharpes for several cases of murder and fraud. You become Sir Thomas Sharpe’s new wife and

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imagine operating as a spy to help arrest the Sharpes for several cases of murder and fraud. You become Sir Thomas Sharpe’s new wife and all seems to go well until suddenly, you find yourself falling for the English baronet... (NSFW)

_Words: 3988  
Warnings: smut, mentions of murder, poisoning and violence, angst_

* * *

 

_“Are you sure you want to do this?” Mercury asked in broken French, stern gaze grazing your determined expression. You nodded. The private investigator—your uncle—had been after the Sharpes for years. Marriage fraud and murder in several cases and countries, to him, they were known as dangerous and manipulative criminals the police could not arrest without enough evidence._

_Mercury had dedicated half of his life attempting to convict the orphaned siblings and had yet never gotten close enough. But now, rumours had spread. Rumours of them travelling to France, Paris, in search for a new wife to exploit._

_You were young, beautiful and wealthy—when your father had died, he had left you half a fortune. It should be enough to sate the greedy English crooks, on top of that, so you figured, there was no one around to get hurt. So you sat up a plan to catch Sir Thomas Sharpe’s attention and let his frigid sister Lucille know about the amount of money on your bank account._

_You had been living in France for years, perfecting the language and building yourself a wonderful life after your father’s demise, soon after you had met Laurent, your current suitor. He had not yet asked for your hand in marriage, which now proved to be all the more convenient to trick the Sharpes and arrest them once and for all._

_“_ _C’est pas une bonne idée, chérie_ _.”_ _He tossed in. You agreed of course, wholeheartedly. It was a bad idea. But unlike all the other women Sir Thomas Sharpe had unknowingly kidnapped, you were very well aware of their technique. All of his wives had mysteriously deceased within mere weeks, leaving only one conclusion to Mercury—poison._

_“I know,” you replied in French. “I am strong, Laurent. I can do this.”_

* * *

_You had seen photographs of the culprits. Wedding pictures taken at wonderful locations and photos from newspapers. Still, nothing prepared you for when Sir Thomas Sharpe first entered the dining room, in which a famous French architect’s feast took place—a social event for interested builders from all over the world, set up by Mercury, of course._

_He was tall and good-looking, incredibly handsome even. Black hair, stunning blue eyes and the softest, most innocent expression you had ever had the fortune lay eyes upon when your eyes met for the first time. He was smitten by your beauty and the marvellous dress you wore but so were you. You were smitten by his charm, his smooth voice and, quite frankly, by his English accent. Laurent’s accent when he spoke English was terrible. Sir Thomas’ instead… you took a deep breath._

_It worked. He was interested. Lucille—an almost scary young woman with an ice cold demeanour, noticed you too. Mercury soon started a casual conversation with her, letting her know subtly about how lonely you were after your_ French _father’s death, all alone in a big mansion and with more money than you would ever be able to spend._

_“My lady,” a smooth voice suddenly spoke up. “May I ask for this dance?” Turning around slowly, you forced the butterflies in your belly to calm._

* * *

And so here you were now, sharing a bed with the English gentleman himself, miles away from society—Allerdale Hall—or, as they liked to call it, _Crimson Peak._ The location was terrifying to say the least, the house eerily quiet and yet so loud, as if it was… breathing. How many women had suffered death in this mansion? How many had been poisoned and now lay buried beneath the red clay Thomas sought to harvest with his machines?

Mercury had set it all up, of course. Part of your money would go to the Sharpes to not raise any suspicion but until the “final” documents would arrive, they had but you. This would, hopefully, buy you enough time to collect sufficient evidence.

“Mrs Sharpe, voulez-vous boire du thé avec moi?” Smiling, you looked up from the book you were reading in the bedroom, facing Thomas who was standing in the threshold holding a tray with two teacups and a teapot on it.

You froze when you realised you were giggling at his sweet attempt to speak French. He had been trying to for several weeks now, learning eagerly and sucking up any information you would provide him with.

“I am so sorry,” he continued in English. “I’m afraid my French is still terrible.“

“It is quite a difficult language. I doubt I would be able to speak it if had not grown up in Paris.” You lied. “You are doing really well.” And you meant it. Thomas was… incredible. A loving, caring, if anything a little restrained husband, charming and English to the core. He was a true gentleman—every poor woman’s heart would jump upon his sweet pampering and attention; and so did you.

You could barely imagine he was a murderer and a cheat… but then again, you had still not consummated marriage. You had not yet found out why he rarely kissed you, rarely touched you. You did not mind, of course… or did you? _No, no you did not!_ Laurent was waiting for you, worried sick that something might happen to you. You were not to develop and harbour feelings for a murderer, a _villain._

* * *

_“I… I would love to.” You replied, smiling sweetly at him. His blue eyes bewitched you as he took your hand in his and you gasped, feeling the smoothness of his palms. “Are you familiar with the Waltz?” He asked, gaze still resting on you gently._

_“I am.” And Thomas was a wonderfully skilled dancer. With but a few steps, he managed to abduct you, bring you into another world where Laurent did not exist._ This is his play _, you reminded yourself._ This is how he operates to murder. _But it was no use. Sir Thomas Sharpe was the most charming man you had ever met._

_You were happy when he proposed to you that night, asking you to come live with him in England. You were happy although you should not be._

* * *

Now, you had to keep reminding yourself why you were here. You had learned that even though Thomas was a ruthless murderer just like his sister Lucille—who you barely saw around—but his genuine care for you was real. Perhaps… perhaps he did have a conscious after all. Perhaps he did feel sorry for having poisoned all these innocent women.

“I would love some tea. How is it going with your machine?” You asked, feinting interest as you took one of the teacups he offered you. It was always the same. A beautiful cup, with a little crack on the handle. Thomas took the other, offering you milk and sugar.

“I am waiting for some new parts to arrive from France. The architect I met was smitten by my project and he promised to design some pieces for me for very little money. It is looking good, (Y/N). I will soon get it to work.”

“That’s great to hear, Thomas.”

Politely, you took a sip of your tea. You never drank all of it—always made sure to flush it down the toilet when the Sharpes did not look. You did not want to upset them and raise any suspicion but the tea they made you drink tasted but disgusting.

It was nerve-wrecking, for thus far, you had not collected a single piece of evidence. Thomas had warned you never to go down the lowest level and it you figured it was about time you acted on the information and explored a little.

Hiding your dismay, you took another sip from the same teacup. _The same teacup…_ There had to be something. _The poison…_ they would not mix it into your food, you always insisted on making it yourself. I _t was in the tea!_ You immediately stopped drinking, complaining it was still a little too hot.

“It is rather late. You should go to bed. I will join you as soon as I can.” Thomas said, smiling genuinely as he leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. The moment his lips touched your skin, it seemed to catch fire. Reciprocating the smile, you resisted the urge to bit your lower lip as you watched him taking the teacup from your hands and placing it on the nightstand before leaving the room again with the tray.

No. You did not want to believe he was a ruthless murderer. You had seen some of the people Mercury had arrested along with the police, seen the cold and condescending look in their eyes—an eerie look that Thomas did not possess. When he asked you to rest and sleep, he meant it. When he asked if you were alright, he meant it. It was Lucille who scared you at times, despite your knowledge of their crimes. Lucille who had that ice cold look. Could it possibly be?

Pondering restlessly, you headed for the bathroom to empty the tea in the sink and then returned to bed, burying yourself under the warm covers, for it was bitterly cold in the house.

What if Thomas was in fact, innocent? What if it was Lucille forcing him to take part in all these atrocious and terrible crimes she had committed? Lucille had told you about how she had been the one to raise Thomas and take care of him when their mother died so _mysteriously._ Perhaps… perhaps… perhaps… But what scared you the most was that you… _hoped_ that the younger Sharpe was innocent—and you caught yourself warming up to him, taking a liking into him and maybe even falling for him.

No. This wasn’t right. Laurent was waiting for you in France.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow you would make sure to provide your uncle with another letter containing proper details and proof. Little did you know that tomorrow would also change everything.

* * *

_“I, Thomas Sharpe, take thee, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), to be my wedded Wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.” He declared tenderly, capturing you with his stunning blue eyes._

_You did not care. You did not care. This wedding vow… it was but a farce. Thomas had not actually fallen in love with you. None of this was real._

_“I, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), take thee, Sir Thomas Sharpe, to be my wedded Husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.” But was it really a lie? The moment you reciprocated his loving glance, you realised you might in fact be able to love and cherish him._

_Thomas took the beautiful ring he had proposed with, slipping it on your finger. Your skin seemed to burn where his hand touched yours._

_“With this Ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”_

* * *

When you awoke the next day, Thomas was, as you had expected, gone. You had dreamt of him last night. About your wedding… about how you had felt when he had promised to love you forever…

It was a snowy day, the house was calm and eerily quiet. The tea. Silently, so you would not alarm Lucille, you sneaked into the kitchen and searched the shelves for any evidence on where the poison came from and specifically, what kind it was, quickly laying eyes upon two almost identical tins. One of them was blue, the other red. When you opened the latter and carefully brought your face to the mixture inside, the familiar smell of belladonna filled your nose.

Mercury had advised you not to take matters in your own hand but if it were you bringing down the Sharpes once and for all… determined, you emptied both the tins into two separate bowls and then swapped the contents, refilling the red tin with the harmless tea, the blue one with the deadly belladonna. That way, you would be able to drink the tea without any concern and most importantly, without raising any suspicion.

Then, you made your way to the lowest level in search for more evidence but the outcome was disappointing. The fountains filled with clay were locked and you could not break the chains without drawing attention to yourself. There was a suitcase with someone’s initials on them but no keys to open it.

So you went back up, returning to the kitchen. Lucille usually kept her set of the house keys on the counter, so perhaps, if you were lucky…

Instead, you found Thomas. He was taking a break from crafting on his machine, his back hair a little wet from the snow and his hands holding a steaming teacup. He was about to take the first sip when you suddenly felt panic surging through you, paired with a stinging pain right through your heart.

 _He_ was about to drink it. You would poison him. Thomas… you had been wrong. You did care. And you did not want him to die.

You gave it no second thought. Starting at him in a haste, you knocked the teacup from his hand, spilling its contents on the cold ground.

“(Y/N)! Are you alright?”

The expensive porcelain broke, sending the sound of clattering of shards through the kitchen.

“Don’t drink that.” You choked out. “Don’t.”

“What, w—“

“I have swapped the content of the tins. I know that you and Lucille have been trying to poison me.”

With a start, his face fell, his thin lips parting. “You…”

“Yes,” you cut him off. By now, your silly French accent had disappeared completely. Thomas’ expression darkened. He realised something.

“Who are you really?”

“You… you might want to sit down.”

Suspiciously, Thomas did as you said. You joined him, playing with your fingers so you would not reach for his hand.

“I am the niece of an English private investigator. You met him in Paris. His name is Mercury.”

“You told me your father was a French rich man.”

“I lied,” you said quickly. “My father _is_ indeed dead. I have inherited money but he was English and so am I. Do you understand, Thomas? This was a set up. Mercury works with the police and has been after you and your sister for years now. England, Scotland, Italy. He has followed you to all the places you have visited and left with an innocent woman, who all peculiarly lost a wealthy family member and then mysteriously died, leaving you with their fortune.”

Thomas was silent, his lips pressed together to a thin line. So he did not object.

“The money Lucille and you are waiting for will not come, it does not exist. I have merely been living in Paris for years now.” You gasped for air when you failed to mention Laurent to him. “We decided that if someone made it close enough… we would be able to collect enough evidence to have you arrested.”

“Why did you do that? You could have gotten yourself killed!” He began, raising his voice. Honest concern reflected in his mesmerising blue eyes, making you frown. Thomas took a deep breath. “The letters you have been writing… to your uncle?”

You nodded. “It took me time to win your trust. I have provided him with details on the house and your machine, I have told him about everything that appeared… off about this house. Trust me, Thomas, when I say that there is, in fact, a lot that is off.”

Briefly, he closed his eyes, unsure of what to say. “What else have you found out?”

“Not much yet,” you replied. You might as well jump in at the deep end now. “Who killed your mother? Was it you?”

Thomas shook his head so quickly you felt the urge to reach for his hand.

“Was it Lucille?”

He looked up, meeting your eyes sadly. “You need to leave.”

“I will not.” You responded with a scowl. “I will not leave this room until you have told me everything I would like to know.”

“(Y/N), no… you do not understand. Lucille will kill you, all the sooner if she learns how much you know. You need to leave Allerdale Hall.”

His worry for you touched you, caressed your heart like soft feathers. Still, you swallowed, forcing yourself to remain calm. “Lucille? It was Lucille who killed all of your wives?” You had to ask. You had to know.

There was something between the two of you. Something magical and even though neither of you acted on it, it was still _there._ Those wedding vows… they had felt so real and special but how could you? How could you fall in love with another man, a villainous murderer? Laurent… you would break his heart and yet… all of a sudden, you did not want to send the letter anymore.

You did not want Thomas to go to jail. You wanted him to be with _you._

“Thomas… did you love them, truly?”

“No,” he said quietly. “I swore that I would never fall for any of them, for…”

“For what?” Your voice was shaking. The affection you had seen in his blue eyes… it _was_ real.

“Lucille and I are…”

Oh God. Your heart skipped a beat. You were at a loss for words, so Thomas kept on talking. “But I lied to her, (Y/N). I told her I poison your tea every day like I should but I do not. I knew, somehow, that there was something different about you. I have fallen for you, (Y/N), and I cannot help it.”

Your lower lip was shaking. Swallowing thickly, his words reached your heart. _I have fallen for you._ And yet again, there was no malice reflecting in his voice or eyes. He meant it.

“Y-you… you are an accessory to murder, Thomas.”

“And yet you stopped me from drinking the poisoned tea. (Y/N)…”

“I love you.” You blurted out. “I do, I love you. But my uncle would never allow this. Besides… there… there is a man waiting for me in Paris. His name is Laurent.”

“Your husband?” Thomas asked, disappointed.

“No. No, we are not yet married or engaged.”

“Then what is it that holds you back? (Y/N), my sweet… I never thought I would ever pick up the courage to defy Lucille and to stand up to her wicked schemes. I love her dearly but she is so full of hatred. For the first time in my life, I harboured thoughts of leaving England, of leaving with you and starting anew. You confessed to me what you have come here for, now what if it is a sign?”

 _My sweet…_ “I…”

“You deserve better, (Y/N). I am by no means as honourable as I claim to be when I travel the world. But for you, I want to be a better man.”

You believed him. “I still… I need evidence. If we can prove to my uncle that it was Lucille who—“

“She is still my sister…” He started indecisive. And he could not possibly aid in bringing about her demise.

“She is a murderer. She manipulated you, abused you. Thomas… she needs to pay for the horrors she has committed. I cannot abandon the purpose that I came here for. I cannot dishonour and hoodwink my uncle like this.”

Again, Thomas silenced, considering for a brief moment. He made his decision when he leaned forward and captured your lips with his, gently wrapping his hand around your neck to pull you closer. You melted into the kiss, for anything, it was the first time he properly kissed you.

His eyes were closed when he stood, his lips never leaving yours, and lifted you off the ground, carrying you over to the elevator like a cherished bride. He had carried you like this when you had entered the house for the first time and yet it was now you truly felt the gravity of his promise he had made in the church.

Thomas kept kissing you. His tongue slipped into your mouth hungrily, tasting you as if his life depended on it. Until you reached your shared bedroom, you had both run out of breath and pulled away panting, leaving him enough time to remove his dark pants and sneak his way through the many layers of your dress.

He pushed it up effortlessly, gently laying you down on the mattress to hover above you and appreciate the sight.

“Beautiful…” He murmured absently before pressing his lips back on yours, pampering you with another sweet kiss. His mouth wandered to your jawline, kissing down your neck and cleavage all the while he positioned himself between your legs, anticipation having both your limbs shake.

You could feel his hard length pressing against your inner thighs, a warm liquid grazing your petals. You were ready. Ready for him to take you, to finally consummate marriage, ready to take his member in and to be united with him like husband and wife should be.

Moaning contently, Thomas guided his erection to your entrance. He shivered when he found you wet for him, making it all the easier for him to bury himself inside you. Slowly, he pushed in, all the way to the hilt until you both gasped in pleasure, noses brushing against each other.

You could feel his hot breath against your cheeks when he started moving, looking you deeply in the eye with the most loving look you had ever had the privilege of receiving. Laurent had never looked at you like this. He was caring and considerate for sure but Thomas… Thomas was the perfect man.

It filled you with delight and happiness, knowing you had been right about him. He was no innocent but he was good. A good man with a good heart, misguided and drawn to atrocious actions by grief, desperation, manipulation, fear and loneliness.

Your nails dug into his back, pulling him even closer to you. You wanted to feel every inch of his body, wanted him as near as possible. Waves of pure pleasure cursed through your body with every stroke, pumping in and out of you in a steady rhythm. He soon sped up, thrusting faster and greedier and adjusting his angle slightly so he suddenly hit a spot you had never known existed inside of you. Again and again, the tip of his length caressed it demandingly, drawing bliss and moans from your body.

“Thomas…” You whispered, over and over again until you felt like you were going to explode. There was a knot tightening in your stomach, vision growing black as you shook and tensed, letting out a high scream when your climax hit you, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Hungrily, your walls clenched around Thomas’ member, milking him relentlessly and convulsing around him repeatedly.

Thomas smiled, gratified he had gifted you such blissful seconds. It did not take him long to follow you. Kissing you one last time, he panted heartily before spilling himself deep inside you, filling you up with his seed. A few last strokes and he collapsed on top of you, caressing your forehead with light kisses.

You would make sure your uncle would approve. Together, you would do anything in your power to stay together. Perhaps, all of this _had_ been a sign indeed. Perhaps, Thomas and you were meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If you enjoyed this story, make sure to head over to my Tumblr (@sserpente) for more. ♥


	4. Imagine seeking refuge in Allerdale Hall during a terrible storm, unable to shake off the feeling of being watched until suddenly, you encounter the ghost of the dead baronet who had once lived among the horrors taking place in this house...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imagine seeking refuge in Allerdale Hall during a terrible storm, unable to shake off the feeling of being watched until suddenly, you encounter the ghost of the dead baronet who had once lived among the horrors taking place in this house, Sir Thomas Sharpe…

_Words: 1570  
Warnings: ghost!Thomas Sharpe, ghost!Lucille, angst_

* * *

 

They had called you suicidal and well, maybe you were. Perhaps you _did_ have a death wish and now fate wanted to punish you for your recklessness.

The storm grew stronger with every second. It was pouring, heavy raindrops wetting your clothes and skin, the wind attempting to hurl you off your feet and drag you across the lonely landscape.

You were alone. The next village was miles away, you had walked the entire day to reach this godforsaken place, all for a few lucky pictures for your collection. The houses and places you photographed were special—eerie but extraordinary. You made quite a lot of money when you sold them to magazines and private collectors, so the risks were usually worth it.

And now here it was, right in front you. Allerdale Hall—or, what the citizens liked to call it, Crimson Peak, where murder and horror had taken place so many years ago. A shiver ran up and down your spine. They said the place was haunted, that you shouldn’t get too close but what other choice did you have now?

You had to hide somewhere from the storm before it _did_ end up killing you. You had seen the mighty lightning, heard the loud rumbles of thunder, so ear-piercing and intimidating you feared any moment now you would take your last breath.

Panting, you gaped up at the massive building in front of you, bringing your gloved hands up to press your palms against the frozen wood of the heavy doors, pushing them open with all your might. What revealed itself to you was a massive entrance hall. It was cold—even colder than outside. Snowflakes dribbled to the ground mutely, forming a crimson red puddle in the centre of the hall—the house was sinking. There were dead flowers, abandoned pieces of furniture… and the eerie feeling that terrible things had happened in here.

You shouldn’t be here. In fact, you should be taking your pictures of the landscape and the house from afar and then escape home again where you could develop the mysterious photographs while drinking a hot cup of tea.

Looking behind you as you bit your lower lip, you noticed, however, that the storm had gotten even worse… and you couldn’t quite shake off the feeling you were being watched. It was too late to turn back now. Clutching your camera tightly, you gaped at the inner life of the impressive building you had sneaked into, snapping more and more pictures as you worked your way upstairs.

Was there… someone playing a piano? No… it couldn’t be. You were _alone._ Right? Holding your breath, you stopped dead in your tracks and listened, hearing your own blood pumping through your veins. No piano—only silence. But then, there were footsteps and your heart sank.

“H-hello? Is anybody here?” Swallowing thickly, your teeth clattering as you stepped forward, the cold still biting at your skin, you peeked around the corner carefully. There was nothing there. Surely, this was your imagination, your mind playing tricks on you for you had heard so many ghastly horror stories about this house.

You turned around again—and saw a _man_ standing before you. Your scream got stuck in your throat, your camera falling to the ground and shattering to several pieces. He was _transparent._ In fact, you could see right through him and admire the long and lonely hallway in front of you. White hair, dead and yet lively eyes and most shockingly, a gaping and bleeding wound on his cheek. He was… a ghost.

Strangely enough though… he did not seem hostile. Rather… tormented, in need of help. Desperate.

“Who are you?” A soft voice spoke. It took you a moment to realise it was _him._ His thin lips had barely moved. “Why are you here?”

“I-I…” You were talking to a ghost. Were you hallucinating? Would you faint any moment now? Taking a deep and shaky breath, you lifted your chain. You were strong. You could get through this. _If_ it was real… or were you going mad? Trembling even more than before, you bit your lower lip with widened eyes, paralysed.

“Get away. Leave! This place is cursed.” His words did not sound like a threat, much more like a warning, as if he genuinely wanted to keep you away from the evil lurking inside these very walls. It was then it hit you. _Sir Thomas Sharpe._ He was Sir Thomas Sharpe, the deceased baronet of Allerdale Hall. But he hadn’t just _died._ According to the wound on his face, someone had _murdered_ him.

“I… I know who you are. Y-you are Thomas Sharpe. Sir Thomas Sharpe a-and you… you died. How are you s-still here?”

“This place is cursed,” he repeated gently, pain glistening in his eyes. Your lips parted. You resisted the urge to step forward and attempt to touch him, to reassure yourself that there was something there and you were not talking to thin air. “You need to leave before it’s too late.”

“I… I can’t,” you chirped. “The storm is too dangerous. I came here to take photographs of the landscape, I work for a magazine, I… I didn’t mean to disturb your peace, I am so sorry.”

The ghost… Thomas… shook his head slightly. “There is no peace here. Ever.” He paused, pondering for a moment. “Upstairs is a bedroom, the first on the left. Go and hide until the storm is over. She mustn’t find you.”

She? Nodding frantically, you gathered your now broken camera from the ground and hurried to where he had described with shaking limbs and although your gut feeling protested, for some inexplicable reason you felt like you could trust him.

You had never met a ghost before—oh for Heaven’s sake, yesterday, you hadn’t even _believed_ in ghosts…. But this one did not seem like it would do you any harm.

“Thomas?” You whispered when you entered the bedroom, noticing a huge king-size bed dominating it. Despite the old age of the house, it still looked comfortable enough for you to warm up. “Thomas… are you still here?”

“I’m here,” he muttered. A cool breeze of air tickled your neck and once more, you turned on your heel to face him. “Who is… s-she?”

“Lucille. My sister. Do not worry, she cannot hear us. She is trapped in her own kind of hell… but when the piano stops playing…” He stopped mid-sentence, not daring to speak the horrors which would unfold if she did. So you _had_ heard music after all.

Nodding frantically, you wrapped your arms around your body in an attempt to stay warm. It was freezing in the bedroom, yet you seemed unable to feel the cold. All of your cells screamed for you to escape and run, the other part not believing what was occurring in this very moment.

Gulping, you looked at the pale young man once more. His dead eyes bore into yours softly, making the grave wounds staining his transparent body all the more prominent.

“How is this… I mean… you are… a-a ghost?”

Thomas smiled sadly. “It would appear so.”

With a start, you felt sorry for him. Sorry for a man you had never met and yet now stood before you, dead and yet… so _alive._ Fear was still twisting your guts almost painfully, not directed, however, at Thomas.

“I’m so sorry… is there… can I help you, somehow?” He smiled once more, having you admit that even as a ghost, he was tremendously handsome. Women must have thrown themselves at his feet when he was still alive; had anyone of them ever noticed the pain residing deep within him, that his blue eyes told a horrible and traumatic story he was yet to stomach?

“I am afraid there is not. I am cursed. I always have been… but I would love some company. I have not spoken to anyone in years…”

Nodding once more, you forced yourself to smile despite the terror you had become the centre of. This you could help him with. You would talk about your favourite books, about your work, about this house, about his… his past…

You never knew when you had fallen asleep, passed out on the cosy armchair in his bedroom. Against what seemed physically possible, you woke up the next morning, when the storm had calmed, with a warm blanket draped over your body.

Thomas was nowhere to be seen. Had your mind played a trick on you, after all? Had you never actually met Sir Thomas Sharpe, baronet and owner of this imposing yet terrifying mansion? Regardless of whether you had dreamed it all or not, the threat was still very real. _Lucille._ _She mustn’t find you,_ you heard his soft voice echoing in your mind.

Remembering you had no longer a camera, you rubbed your eyes and stood, hurrying downstairs. Leaving Thomas behind again—or whatever you had imagined there had been last night—felt like betraying him. Would he understand? Would he understand that this was not your place, not your burden to carry if there was nothing you could do to make his misery any better?

But then, shortly before you let the heavy wooden door fall shut behind you, you felt a cool hand gently stroking over your cheek and a light breeze seemingly going right through you. You smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If you enjoyed this story, make sure to head over to my Tumblr (@sserpente) for more. ♥


	5. (NSFW) Imagine spending the night with a handsome stranger called Thomas after renovating Allerdale Hall…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imagine spending the night with a handsome stranger called Thomas after renovating Allerdale Hall… (NSFW)

_Words: 1558  
Warnings: a very much alive ghost!Thomas, smut_

* * *

 

“Clink your glass with me?” Grinning sneakily, you raised your champagne glass as you approached your brother standing in the middle of the vast entrance hall of the house you had bought only two months ago. And you had come such a long way. Together with friends and colleagues from art school, after years of abandonment and rotting, Allerdale Hall was now finally blooming again.

You had electric light installed, new furniture added, repainted the wood and the walls, replaced the fabrics of the curtains and carpets and fixed the holes in the ceiling. Thanks to a very pricey technique, the house had been pulled up from the ground which now prevented it from sinking into the crimson clay ever again.

Where your fascination for Allerdale Hall had come from, you had no idea. You had come across the beautiful landscape surrounding it about a year ago and fallen in love with it and decided that you would not let it waste away. So you bought it—and tonight was going to be your first night in it. As soon as this party was over, you were going to go upstairs and to bed, starting a new life in the house you had always dreamed of.

“I love what you’ve done with this place,” your brother remarked, looking around in awe. Your grin widened. “I love it, too.”

The entrance hall as well as the massive living room was full of people chatting happily, enjoying the snacks and the alcohol you had provided for the party. You had invited a couple of friends only but apparently, word had spread fast and now the entire village was here, excited and curious to see what had become of Allerdale Hall. Many of them had their doubts, dreading that awful things would happen to you soon. You paid them no mind.

Your brother followed you into the living room, the only thing which had survived in it the antique piano one of your friends was playing on in this very moment, filling the house with a beautiful European waltz.

“I’ll be outside smoking. See you in a bit, sister.” Your brother announced, pressing a kiss to your cheek before disappearing. You only nodded, studying the people in the room and adjusting your dress in the process.

“You look stunning, if I may say so.” Someone suddenly spoke behind you. Turning on your heel, you faced a handsome stranger before you. You doubted you had ever seen him before and yet, he seemed oddly, almost eerily familiar.

He smiled swiftly as he eyed you ravishingly from head to toe, admiring your emerald green dress. In fact, he seemed utterly unable to take his fascinating blue eyes off of you ever again.

“T-thank you. Are you from the… area?” His smile grew somewhat melancholic.

“More or less. I do not, under any circumstances, want to appear too straight-forward but may I ask for this dance? The music is too lovely to stand idly by, is it not?” He asked coyly.

Excitement spiralled through you. There was something about him that made your heart flutter—and you didn’t even know him.

“I… of course.” Biting your lower lip, you studied him a little further. His hair was black, his lips thin and his cheekbones and sharp jawline to die for. He appeared… out of time with his old-fashioned suit.

And he also practically set fire to your skin when he took your hand in his and lead you to the middle of the room. Instantly, all eyes were on you.

The stranger smiled once more—this time, almost mischievous as he explained with gestures where to put your hand and feet and before you knew it, the both of you were dancing, gliding across the provisory dance floor as if you had grown wings.

* * *

One thing had led to another and next thing you knew his hot lips came crashing down on yours. Thomas, as the stranger had introduced himself as after your dance, pushed you down on your new bed, frantically pulling your dress up to your hips to reveal a pair of black knickers.

He hummed in approval upon seeing your naked thighs, excited to tear down the last piece of fabric still separating him from your aroused womanhood. Animalistic growls escaped his lips, again and again while he kissed you so ferociously you feared for your breath.

Soon enough, his soft hands had found a way underneath your dress and were now fondling your breasts, playing with your nipples until he had turned them into hard little nubs, receptive to his every touch.

You moaned, wanted, no, _needed_ more of him. Thomas rested his forehead against yours. Impatiently, he unbuckled his trousers and pushed them down his hips, revealing a pair of strong and muscly thighs that made your mouth water. But what rested between them, hard, ready and leaking pre-cum captivated all of your attention. He was _big_ , impressive—and you wondered whether he would even fit inside you but as soon as you felt him teasing your entrance with the tip, you were convinced that he would. You were so wet you had already stained the mattress underneath.

“Thomas… please…” You whimpered, trembling as hot waves of arousal washed over your body. And who was he to deny you? He moaned when he pushed inside, stretching your walls slowly but somewhat firmly, forcing your tight opening to take all that he had to offer until finally, he had sheathed himself fully inside you. Your walls clenched around him, nails digging into his still covered shoulders.

Thomas’ mouth was on yours again when he retreated, thrusting back inside only the fraction of a second after. There was no pace, not really. He was hungry and greedy and aroused and so were you—you both needed this—more than either of you would be able to phrase.

Pants, moans and the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the bedroom, the smell of sex slowly replacing that of new wooden furniture. Thomas was as gentle as his own lust allowed him to be, his hands never ceasing to caress your breasts, neck and waist.

You had both lost your senses, nothing but pleasure cursing through your bodies as you climbed the ladder of orgasm together, higher and higher until neither of you could take it anymore.

Thomas came with a growl, spurting his hot seed deep inside you as he twitched against your walls, taking you right with him. Again and again, you spasmed around his hard cock, milking him for all he was worth, both of you floating on cloud nine.

You were panting by the time you had finally come down from your high again. Thomas pulled out reluctantly, chuckling at your small whimpering at the loss of his length inside you and then pulled you into his arms.

“Goodnight, my love…” He murmured.

* * *

Warm sunlight tickled your nose when you opened your eyes the next day. You had forgotten to close the curtains. Sighing, you reached to your right to wake up Thomas only to be met with the warm fabric of your blanket. You frowned. Had he left?

Oh, right, this was how one-night stands usually worked. So why were you disappointed you were alone in this vast bedroom you called your own now? Thomas… he had been so wonderful. So charming, handsome and polite… you desperately wanted to meet him again and repeat this passionate night…

You sighed, lying in bed for at least ten more minutes before finally making your way downstairs, just in time for someone to knock on the door. Moaning quietly, you opened.

“Good morning. Did you have a _fun_ night?” Your brother inquired with a knowing smirk. You only rolled your eyes at him.

“What do you want from me at this unholy hour?” You replied, massaging your temples as you did.

Still sleepy, you made your way to the kitchen to make some coffee. Your brother sat down on the kitchen table, searching for something in the brown bag he had brought.

“Look what I found, you’re gonna like this. I went to the local archive this morning to get the plans for the gardens around the house. Here’s what I found instead. It’s an old newspaper article from 1901. Most of the old records were all burned, probably because of all the atrocious deaths that happened in the house.”

You frowned when your brother handed you the newspaper. Narrowing your eyes at the yellowed piece of paper, you attempted to make out the faded letters written in ink; but it was then the picture in the top left corner of the article caught your eyes. On it were a man and a woman, dressed in expensive garments looking into the camera proudly and sternly. The man… blue eyes, black hair, thin lips and cheekbones and a sharp jawline to die for… _Thomas._

Sir Thomas Sharpe…

“Hey, are you alright? You look a little pale.” Your brother began worriedly. You shook your head frantically. Could it really be? Had you slept with a ghost last night? The ghost of the deceased owner of this house back in 1901?

This was _impossible…_ or was it?

Gulping, you read the names underneath. _Sir Thomas Sharpe, baronet of Allerdale Hale, with sister Lucille_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If you enjoyed this story, make sure to head over to my Tumblr (@sserpente) for more. ♥

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: If you enjoyed this story, make sure to head over to my Tumblr (@sserpente) for more. ♥


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